The Worst Bet To Win


Yesterday, I vomited in the first grade bathroom

I have always hated vomiting. I am certain that there are very few people on this planet that enjoy this wretched act, though,I would like to say that I hate it more than most. Maybe fear is a better word for it. I have always associated vomiting with death, leading me to believe that if I were to puke I may be on the outs. I have done everything possible not to vomit in the past. I will lay perfectly still after pumping myself with a near lethal dose of Pepto, Alka Seltzer, Imodium, and “Anti Nausea Liquid” (almost all of which can be found in the contents of my purse. I like to be prepared. I like plans for feared situations such as “excessive and uncontrollable vomiting”.) , and just sort of mentally bully myself into not spewing. I like to be reassured in times of nausea that I will not be throwing up. Peter has come to routinely tell me, “Gina, you will not puke. I promise”, upon the slightest mention of a stomach upset. I know, it’s hypochondriac-ally quirky. It’s just how I am. I am working on it. He has been so sure in the past that I would NOT vomit, that we had a bet going. I think it topped out at about $250 bucks, making it lucrative, yet still easily the WORST bet to win on my end. I eventually vomited, making him break into a financially induced sweat…but never made him pay up…I didn’t want to make him puke under the whole financial burden of the betting situation. (Merciful, I know…)

So, yesterday was a big deal for me in my book of fears. I booted at work. I felt the weird reversing action of peristalsis talking place, and skittered off to the first grade bathroom with gusto. I actually made it there… which is a plus. I was always the kid who never properly made it to the bathroom upon feeling the stomach bug coming on. I think I revelled in the weird feeling a little too long, trying to figure it out… until, SPLAT…too late… Sorry about your carpet Mom and Dad. Truly.

Anyway, I didn’t die. It sucked. I went home.

It turned into more of a fever+ sore throat of fire+ chills+ body ache, kind of thing. I am still home. I hope it is not strep. Anyone want to look down my throat with a flashlight? Anyone? (sorry for anything weird you might see in there…it feels like it looks gnarly.)

I would much rather be at work than at home sweating on myself and pirate-cringing every time I swallow.

How many times can one girl get sick in the span of five months? I am not sure, but I think I might be going for some sort of record. I knew when I started working with kids that I was probably going to catch a cold or two… but honestly, I never expected to catch EVERYTHING that was being passed around the playground. I wash my hands dutifully, use sanitizer, drink EmergenC, and do my best to take care of myself. I seem to be a magnet for the sick children though. I feel like a child will come and sit in my lap, or lean up against me and then inform me of their illness as they sneeze on my neck. One day, one of the kindergartners leaned in real close and touched my face a little while saying “Miss Gina…Did you know I threw up in my cereal this morning?” Ugh. No. I did not know that. Perhaps you should stop touching my face… and why are you at school?!

I am starting to think that the flu shot that I got when I started working there has done absolutely nothing, and instead has done me in. Although I seem to be recovering a bit faster from the colds, flu’s, viruses and plagues.. that are being tossed my way, I just don’t feel like I have the EPIC sort of immune system that I should by now. It’s maddening. I am sick of being sick. I am sick of being the friend that is always sick… the germy friend. The friend that can’t come out and play because they have a runny nose.

I have been sick so often it almost seems implausible to have sickness be a believable cause for my absences. I will call in ill, and I have this secret fear that my coworkers must think that I am a closet alcoholic, taking a day to recover from the previous evenings bender… or my worst fear would be that they think that I just don’t care. It’s just not the case. It scares me to think that I might be coming off that way. I hate it.

I raise my glass of O.J, in hopes of health, healing vibes, and many more glorious days… sans vomit. Cheers.

Oh god… that burns going down.


~ by soartsyithurts on February 4, 2009.

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